Titanium
by sisimckee
Summary: "There was no point crying anyway. He had cried for months after his brother had died. Begging, pleading, and finally threatening any god to take him instead. His brother had been everything good in life, smiling, laughing, and never seeing the evil inside of his little brother. The brother that didn't deserve to live." Highschool AU Sam/Gabriel Pairing
1. Chapter 1

"You shoot me down, but I won't fall. I am titanium."

He always had been a quiet boy. He had never spoke much to others, preferring to enwrap himself into his schoolwork, and novels. He never pursued friendships, and never once participated in any after school programs. He was the highest form of an introvert. What caused this type of behaviour? Maybe it was merely his personality, or the constant bullying of his peers. Or maybe it was caused by something else entirely.

A wide pair of hazel eyes blinked open slowly, a large hand reaching up to move the long, dark bangs from the front of them. Brain still clouded from sleep, and not yet forgotten dreams, the tall, teenaged boy arose from his cozy bed sheets. Groaning, the young man, regretfully, left the warmth of his bed, and stretched much like a cat would. Arching his back, whilst he moaned, stretching his arms to the ceiling, spreading his fingers apart as far as they could go.

Slumping down, the teenager proceeded to look around. His eyes scanning the room, glazing over the small nightstand beside his bed, past the messy, small desk in the corner, piled high with novels, schoolbooks, textbooks, and the like, and landed on the old dresser situated at the other end of his room. He took 3 short strides until he was standing in front of the old furniture, pulling out drawers, as he fished inside for something to wear. He didn't have much of a selection, as most of his clothes were dark in colour and drab in design. He preferred it that way, because then he knew he wouldn't gather any unwanted attention by standing out. He decided on a faded pair of jeans, a dark gray sweater, and a clean pair of boxers and socks.

After pulling on all the articles of clothing, he grabbed his favorite toque, and made his way out of the fade yellow room. Using quiet steps, he tried to ensure not to wake up his father, who was no doubt hungover, a byproduct of the heavy drinking binge from last night. The young man passed through their small kitchen, snatching a banana off the counter, before making his way over to the front door. Reaching into the coat closet, he pulled out his jacket and pack, shoving the banana inside, and shuffling his feet into his ratty old sneakers, whilst shrugging into his brother's old jacket. Turning away, he silently exited the apartment, locking the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

The teenager made a twenty minute walk to the school, hastily pacing away from home. Adjusting his pack frequently on the way. As he approached the looming high school, he lowered his gaze, pulling the hood of his jacket up and over his head. Maybe, if he kept his eyes down, he could remain invisible for a short while, and no one would bother him. It would seem luck was not on the poor boy's side, however.

As he reached the handle of the front door he was shoved from behind, causing his body to hit the glass sharply. He sighed in relief, glad that the glass hadn't shattered. He looked back, already knowing who the culprit was. Dirk MacGregor shook his hands, trying to shrug off the pain of barreling into the other boy.

"Hey, Samantha! Watch where you're going!" The harsh taunt caused the boy to lean away from the heavier built boy, repelled by the angry note in the bully's tone.

"It's Sam." He uttered with a small squeak.

"What did you just say to me?" Dirk's face suddenly scrunched up in anger.

"Nothing! Uh.. nothing."

"That's what I thought. Samantha." The bully smirked condescendingly. Shoving Sam to the side, he entered the building, his two cronies Gordon Walker and Raphael Finnerman trailed behind him.

He let out a breath of relief, counting to ten before entering the school himself.

Sam made the short walk to his locker, making quick work of the lock, and tossing his pack inside. Grabbing his binder and only pen, he proceeded to slam it shut before making his way to his first class.

From the muttering around him, Sam had gathered that a new replacement teacher was going to be coming in today. Normally, that may have been a bit tricky, but as it was still near the beginning of the second semester, it wasn't as big of a problem. Sam, not much caring for the change in authority, pulled out his notebook, writing on the back page a series of verses. Unconcerned with joining his fellow peer's excitement, he let his mind zone into the strange little poem he was putting together.

_The insistent claws cling to me, _

_Holding me back selfishly, _

_Forcing in thoughts, _

_They are not mine. _

_I want to flee, but where to go?_

_I hesitate, I do not know._

_A plan, a path for me, _

_I'd rather not see. _

_A compulsion to live my life for my own, _

_Secret questions of the unknown,_

_That life is not for me, _

The bell signaling the start if class rang, catching Sam's attention, causing him to look up from the unfinished poem. As he did, his breath caught in his throat.

How strange.

He looked upon the older man, who was no doubt the new English professor. There was nothing remarkable about this man, and yet... Sam was intrigued. Quite short, he had a softer build, a strawberry shade of blonde hair, just reaching past his ears, and casual dress wear. Sam in all honesty should not have reacted to the man at all, but as he peered at him his heart started to beat faster, breath catching in his chest, his palms becoming shaky, and dampening with sweat. He could not tear his eyes away from the older man, but if he were to be completely truthful, he did not want to.

The man slowly walked to the middle of the classroom, a clipboard firmly in hand, before announcing himself to the room of distracted students.

"Hello, everyone! I'll be your new English arts teacher. You can call me by my first name, Gabriel, but if that's not formal enough for you, call me Mr. Milton." His voice was naturally cheerful, as if the man was perpetually happy.

Sam perked up, leaning back against his chair in hopes to get a better look at Mr. Milton.

In a carefree tone, Mr. Milton addressed the classroom once again. "I figured for our first class I could try and get to know a little about each of you. So, when I call your name, you're going to tell the class and I a bit about yourself."

Upon hearing this Sam froze in his seat. He did not want to speak in front of everyone. It was never something he had ever been interested in doing, and he certainly wasn't something he would be comfortable with doing now either. Sam tried to calm himself, succeeding as he realized with a faint smile, his last name, being Winchester, would be the last on the list. The pace that the class was going at the moment definitely suggested that they would not have enough time to finish the entire class list. For once grateful for the immaturity of his classmates. He relaxed his shoulders, feeling the tension in his body dissipate. He leaned back as he continued to admire the older man walking through the aisles.


	3. Chapter 3

Forty-five minutes into the class, and Sam was not as reassured as he had been half an hour ago. Mr. Milton was now up to Sarah Laugherty, which normally wouldn't have been a big deal, except that while there were a lot of students in this class, there were only three other students between her and Sam's last names. He started to squirm uncomfortably as he listened with apprehension as one-by-one each student answered Mr. Milton's questions.

Sam considered his options. He could slip out before his name was called, or he could simply refuse to answer the older man. Both, he was sure would end up with him in detention. Sam, however, did neither.

"Samuel Winchester!" The blonde man announced his voice cheerful as he scanned the classroom.

Sam froze in place, frightened, as his classmates slowly turned around to look at him. Chuck Shurley, a quiet kid Sam would sometimes sit with at lunch, kicked the back of his chair, forcing him to answer.

"Uh! Here." Sam replied, cringing as his voice cracked. He was sweating bullets at this point, starting to shake as the professor looked over to him.

"Ah! There we are!" Came the kind reply, "What can you tell us about yourself, Sam?"

With wide eyes, Sam stared at the man. Eyes pleading with him while he mentally begged, over and over again, _Leave me alone. Please move on. _Of course, Mr. Milton did not pick up on Sam's uneasiness. He wasn't getting the hint, so with defeat Sam tried to perform a coherent sentence, let alone thought.

He stuttered, searching for words, "Uhm... Uh..."

"Spit it out, dummy!" A shout came from the back, easily recognized as Gordon.

"Mr. Walker! I'm going to love seeing you in detention! My desks and chairs could do for a nice cleaning." Mr. Milton smirked sarcastically at the other boy, before turning his attention back to Sam. "As you were saying, Sam?"

He liked the sound of his name escaping from the other man's lips. Amongst Gordon's angry grumbling, Sam searched for what to say. Gathering what courage he could muster, he answered, "Uhm... I'm Sam."

Snickers erupted throughout the classroom, before Mr. Milton shushed them, "Yes?"

"I uh... I'm seventeen. I like to read, and I am going to be pursuing a career as a lawyer." He breathed out in relief, glad to have it over with. Though, he inwardly cringed at how empty his answer had sounded.

Mr. Milton smiled anyways, and turned to address the rest of the class, "Well! I believe that wraps up our first class!" Returning to his desk, he sat down before uttering, "Class dismissed."

Students, glad to be leaving early, excitedly scooped up their books, shuffling out of the room as fast as they could. Sam, not a fan of crowds, hesitated waiting for the rest of his class to get out the door, before heading for it himself. As he reached the door, he stopped at the sound of his name. Turning around, he looked over to Mr. Milton.

Fidgeting, he curiously made his way over to the teacher's desk. "Yes, sir?"

Laughing, the older man reassured Sam, "Don't worry, bud. You're not in trouble. I promise. And don't call me sir, I always hated that." Chuckling, he continued, "I figured I should make it my mission to have a few words with my star student. "

Sam blushed, flattered. The blood slowly colouring his cheeks.

"It surprises me that someone with your talent is pursuing a career in something as drab as law. No offense, but you just didn't seem all that enthusiastic about it. Why is that?"

He peered on curiously, awaiting an answer.

Sam swallowed the lump settling in his throat down to the best of his ability, answering, "It's part of the family business. It's what everyone in the family does. It's what I'm expected to do." He shuffled his feet shyly, looking up; he was surprised to see a disapproving look crossing over the older man's face.

Now that he was closer to him, he could see why the older man had mesmerized him. He was so wrong. This man wasn't ordinary. He had lips that seemed to sit comfortably in a mischievous smirk, and warm, honey gold eyes that Sam could stare into forever. There was warmth, kindness, and acceptance clearly imbedded there.

Sam was startled out of his trance as he felt a warm hand touch his. He was pulled from his thoughts, when the phrase, "Are you alright? Did you hear what I said, Sam?"

Shocked, he pulled his hand away, clearing his throat, nodding lamely.

Chuckling slightly, Mr. Milton repeated himself, "What I said was that you should do what you love. What will make you happy. You should never rely on others opinions, and expectations. Make your own future."

"Oh. Okay, I will." Sam replied quietly.

"Good." Golden eyes twinkled, "What would you do if you didn't have to worry of the expectations of others?"

Sam stared at the other man, trying to find words, "I uh... guess I've never really thought about it. I suppose I would like to become an author. Write novels and poems, I guess." He blushed, hoping his answer didn't sound stupid.

"Then you should do that." The shorter man advised.

"Oh." Sam was dumbfounded, but seeing the other man awaiting an answer, he replied, "Okay."

Mr. Milton smiled warmly, causing Sam's belly to turn happily, "Okay! Now you better get to your next class. You wouldn't want to be late." He gave Sam a quick wink, then proceeded to turn back to the papers of his desk.

Nodding lamely to himself, Sam turned away, leaving the other man in the empty classroom.


	4. Chapter 4

For the next three weeks Sam attended all of his classes with a more enthusiastic approach. He was always excited for his first lessons of the day, because they contained a certain cherub of a man Sam couldn't seem to stop thinking about. Mr. Milton had proved to be a very enigmatic person, often going on to debate with the students, gladly and respectfully listening to their opinions about whichever subject they would be learning at the time. He seemed to really love his job, which was pretty much unheard of among the teachers of Lawrence High, often helping struggling students individually and giving clear explanations for the class that they could easily comprehend. Mr. Milton soon became a favourite among students, and for the first time, Sam was a part of that bandwagon. Sam would be lying if he said that he didn't enjoy the older man's classes, even if they did tend to be more exuberant and hands on than he usually preferred.

Going home, Sam would often spend most of the night editing and proofreading his essays over and over, hoping to impress the attractive professor.

Though it could be hard sometimes.

Especially on nights when his father would come home drunk, looking for someone to pick on. Namely Sam. Saturday night, the 27th of March, was no exception. In fact, it was one of the worse nights of the year, and Sam's birthday. It was approaching the end of winter, gradually turning into spring. The snow was melting, and the sun was starting to shine more. To others this time of year would have seemed insignificant, but not for Sam and his father. Two years ago, to this day, Sam's brother Dean had died at the young age of nineteen.

_Both boys had been out to celebrate Sam's sixteenth birthday. They had gone to the local burger joint, Harvelles, for supper and milkshakes. They had been having a good time, but it had been time to head home. They had made their way over to Dean's sleek, black 1967 Chevy Impala. Their intent had been to go home that night, but Dean never made it. _

John stumbled into the dining room, glaring at Sam over the half empty beer bottle in his hand. He staggered over to the table where Sam sat working on his homework. It was an essay on Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, and he had been eager to hand it in early, hoping to impress Mr. Milton. Sam cautiously looked up to his father.

"Hello, dad."

John's face crumbled into an angry grimace, "Don't call me that! You disgusting thing. You're not my son. My son's dead. You're just some sorry excuse for a Winchester. You don't have the right to call me that."

Sam swallowed the tears he could feel rising. It had never been a secret. Dean had always been their father's favourite. He had only tolerate Sam, because Dean had always been there, forcing them to get along. Trying to force John to love his other son too. Unfortunately, after Dean had died, John had lost any interest in pretending to care for Sam. Instead, he had chosen to blame Sam, saying that if it hadn`t been for Sam, they would have been home that night.

In normal circumstances Sam would have said he was wrong, but he wasn't. What no one knew is that there had never been a drunk driver, doing a hit and run. They hadn't got hit by anything solid, per se.

"You killed him! You killed my only son!" John screamed at him, making Sam flinch at the harsh words. "He was mine, and you took him from me, you evil son of a bitch!"

Thinking back to that night, Sam recalled Dean and his conversation, before things went awry.

"_You know. I don't see why you guys don't get along." His brother turned to look over at him, his green eyes locking onto Sam's brown ones momentarily, "You guys are practically the same person, really. What's that saying? You always hate the people you're most like? Yeah." He chuckled to himself. _

_Sam squirmed uncomfortably, feeling anger rage inside of him, "I'm nothing like him, Dean. I don't even look like him." _

_Dean glanced over, noticing Sam's discomfort, before shrugging, "Yeah, I suppose you're right. But, I think he really does try. _

_Sam scoffed, "Yeah. For your sake not mine."_

_Shaking his head, Dean ran his fingers through his hair, exasperated. He kept quiet, choosing to watch the road more closely. The wind was picking up, and it was causing the car to start drifting. _

_"What was that for?" Sam questioned angrily. "You know what? Don't try to blame this on me, okay? He's the jerk that can't even try to make a relationship with his son!" Sam's voice started rising, his chest becoming tighter and tighter with each breath. _

_Dean looked over to him disapprovingly, "Sam! That's your father! And whether you like it or not, me and him are the only family you got left. Don't call him a jerk when he's trying. It's near impossible for him with the way you react towards him. It's no wonder you guys have such issues."_

_"So that's it then? It must be my fault, huh?" Sam's voice had started to get louder, near shouting. _

_"No, Sam that's not what I'm saying-"_

_"That is what you're saying! It's my fault he doesn't love me!"_

_Dean ignored his younger brother, worryingly looking out the windshield. For some reason, the wind had picked up ferociously, causing the car to start swerving. Sam, not noticing the sudden change in weather, continued to yell, and as he got angrier, the storm seemed to worsen. Dean looked over at his brother apprehensively, and that was all it took. One split second, and he had lost all control of the vehicle. The impala swerved sharply to the side before flipping three times, the strong winds throwing the black car into the ditch. _

_There was pain. But not for Sam. Dean whimpered in agony, as he looked down to his chest, seeing a large piece of twisted metal imbedded in there. He groaned, looking over to Sam. Sam stared at him, terrified, but Dean only looked on in absolute shock. Sam was completely fine, without a scratch on him. It looked as though the car had resisted banding around his brother's body, saving him from being crushed. But that was impossible. The rest of the car was totaled, and Dean noticed apprehensively, that it was a still night. There was no storm. As his lungs began to fill, he slowly realized what had happened. _

_"Dean! Dean! I'm so sorry!" Tears rushed down the younger boys face, leaving wet streaks along his cheeks. "Please don't die! I'm so sorry! I need you! You're all that I have! _

_He clung to Dean's hand, as he could only reach so far. Dean's side of the impala was crushed, making it impossible for Sam to get any closer to him. Dean gave him a weak smile, squeezing his younger brother's hand. _

_"It's okay. It's not your fault. I love you, Sam. That'll never change. I always knew you were special. "_

_Sam cried harder. Dean was obviously not okay, and he wasn't going to get better. "I'm so sorry! I love you! I don't want you to die! You're the only one who cares about me! It's all my fault! I got angry, and I couldn't control it! I caused this! I-"_

_Dean cut Sam off sternly, "No! Okay. So I don't think I'm gonna make it outta this one," He coughed up blood, the read substance dripping down his chin. "When you're asked what happened ... you tell them ... you tell them a drunk ... driver hit and run us ... okay, Sammy? Can you do that for me?"_

_Sam shook his head violently, sobbing uncontrollably. "No, no, no..."_

_"SAM." Dean shouted, grunting at the pain it caused him. "Protect yourself ... and your secret, Sam ... Lie ... That's my last wish ... okay? I love you, little brother ..."_

_Sam watched in horror, as the life from his brother__'__s eyes drained away, leaving behind, glassy, dead orbs. Staring at him. _

_"No ... no ... no, no, no." Tears rushed down his face, feeling like someone had torn his heart out of his chest. An inhuman scream was released from his mouth, "NO!"_

Sam was forced back to the present. His father shoving him.

"You just gonna sit there?" John slurred. "You worthless piece of shit."

"Please, father." Sam whispered, clearly distraught.

"Don't fucking call me that!" John screamed, grabbing one of the kitchen hairs, slamming it across the back of Sam's head and body.

For a normal person, such a blow would have been devastating. The chairs were made of welded metal. They had a homemade table, and chairs set Dean had made when he was sixteen. But, Sam was not normal, and rather cause excruciating pain, it merely caused the chair to bend out of shape and ricochet off of Sam, and into the wall. The force of the hit leaving a hole. Sam sat still, controlling his anger. He knew he had to, because he had promised to never lose control like that ever again.

John stared at him with wide eyes, "You're unnatural."

Sam couldn't agree with him more. Eyes downcast, he stood up from the table, gingerly weaving his way around his father. Slipping on his shoes, he locked the door, before exiting the apartment. He wasn't worried. John never remembered anything the next morning anyways.


	5. Chapter 5

Saddened, Sam walked down the hall, heading for the stairs. His father was right. Dean's death had been his fault, but not voluntarily. Sam trotted down the stairs dejectedly, giving a small smile to the older lady that lived in the lower level of the building. Sam liked her. Once she had invited him over once, offering him stale cookies and nervously showing him her stowaway cat. She had gotten paranoid though, and had shooed him out of her home.

He reached the front door and exited, choosing to sit on the steps, off to the side, that were covered with a light dusting of snow. He figured he would sit there for a few hours until his father passed out, then head for bed.

"Damn," he swore, realizing he hadn't brought anything to occupy his time.

Slumping against the brick foundation, he looked to the street in front of him. He watched as last minute shoppers emerged from the grocery store across the way. He watched as a middle aged man with a brief case patiently waited at the bus stop, sitting on the slightly wet bench. If he strained his eyes slightly, Sam could watch as traffic a few blocks away slowed for a bundled up young woman with a small child in her hands. If she didn't get a better grip, that ice she was going to slip on was going to cause her to drop the little one. She shifted the child closer to her body, before slipping slightly. Sam sighed.

Watching people could be interesting at times, though, he always slightly wished he could be a participator rather than an observer. Looking away, he turned his face up towards the greying sky.

"Happy 18th Sam... I wish Dean was here." Clearing his throat, he quickly wiped away the escaped tear angrily. He didn't deserve to cry.

There was no point crying anyway. He had cried for months after his brother had died. Begging, pleading, and finally threatening any God to take him instead. His brother had been everything good in life, smiling, laughing, and never seeing the evil inside of his little brother. The brother that didn't deserve to live. But no one had answered, and eventually Sam gave up.

Tired of thinking of dark thoughts, he looked down at the cement steps beneath him. Absent mindedly, he began to break small chunks, crushing the hard substance between his fingers into a fine powder. He amazed him that he could do these things, and maybe if it had been different circumstances, he may have loved it. Relished in the fact that he was, as his brother had called him, special. But, instead they terrified him. They could damage, hurt, even kill. It scared him more than he would like to admit. To be frightened of your own self ... well, it was a potent feeling. He yearned to be normal like everyone else. To be able to have friends, or a lover, and not have to worry about hurting them, or being exposed. To be able to play sports, and not have to limit himself. And, above all, still have his brother.

Unfortunately, he couldn't. He had to be careful who he was close to. He had to always be on guard of his emotions, and abilities, because the two seemed to go hand-in-hand. So he lived a lonely life. At least no one else could get hurt. He didn't feel a compulsion to be around others anyway. Well, except for a certain golden-eyed man. He wouldn't mind getting to know that man ... intellectually, spiritually, personally ... physically. Sam blushed a light pink. He knew he shouldn't have those thoughts about his teacher, but it was hard not to. Sam felt such a strong pull towards the other individual. Sam was naturally drawn towards the older man's light, carefree personality. He envied him for it, but he applauded him for it as well. It had to be exhausting to be happy all of the time, Sam mused. Mind you, it would be hard not to be pleasant when you were all shades of beautiful. Silly as it was, Sam would think of the older man frequently. At times, though he was ashamed to admit it, he would touch himself to thoughts of the older man. He would always feel guilty afterwards, often not bearing to look at the professor for a few days afterwards. His fantasies of Mr. Milton, in all honesty, were not always sexual. His reoccurring favourite was where he would be with the older man, completely alone. He would show the other man his abilities, and rather than judge, or hate him, he would embrace him. Softly, brushing his lips against Sam's temple. Sam smiled, lost in his thoughts.

"Sam?" A very familiar voice appeared.

Shocked, Sam tilted his head up, becoming more and more mortified as he realized who it was.

With a curious smile, Mr. Milton questioned, "What are you doing out in this weather without a jacket? It may be a surprise to you, but it's actually still jacket weather. Y'know, because it's cold outside."

"Uh..." Sam stuttered, reddening. "Uhm... needed some fresh air."

"Bad day?"

"You could say that." Sam said with a hesitant smile.

Regarding the young man with barely hidden pity, the older man spoke up, "Yeah, I was told today might be a little difficult for you."

A little surprised, Sam replied, "You... you know about my brother?"

Giving Sam an apologetic look, Mr. Milton answered, "Yeah, sorry. Mrs. Reid is a bit of a Chatty Cathy. She felt that she needed to warn me that you may feel a little under the weather today."

Sam nodded, understanding. Most of the teachers pussy-footed around him, avoiding the weird, sad kid. He was glad to see that Mr. Milton wasn't part of that group.

The older man looked up to the graying sky, before resting his amber eyes on Sam once more. "Well, if going home isn't an option right now, you could come and help me grade some essays."

Sam regarded the other man incredulously, "Is that legal?"

Chuckling, the man fished out his keys from his jacket pocket, "Probably not, but hey, as long as no one knows, then nobody can care. Am I right?" He looked to Sam expectantly.

"I ... suppose."

"Alright!" Mr. Milton loudly exclaimed, startling Sam slightly. "Then let's go!"

Curious as to what the professor's apartment would look like, Sam followed along up the stairs. Sam was shocked to discover that not only did Mr. Milton live in the same building as him, his apartment was only three doors down from his own.

Discreetly, Sam slowed in front of his own door, straining his ears to listen. At first, he could hear the faint sound of old family tapes being played on their box TV. Focusing further, he finally heard the quiet, drunken mumbling of his father. Most of what his father was saying made no sense, due to the slurring, but Sam could still make out a few sentences.

"God damn ... creature."

"He's a monster."

And finally, the last, "Killer."

Stomach flipping, Sam pulled away from the door, retracting his hearing. Following, the golden-eyed man, as he held the door open for Sam.


End file.
